Silently, Teoma takes the baby as I attend to the mess, but his breath down my cleavage causes heat to rise in my loins. I step back, nearly falling off the narrow ledge. Teoma catches me. We are much too close. The spit up milk will have to wait.
“Abba! Abba!”
Sarah calls happily to a shock-still Yeshua. I cannot move. At least Teoma has enough presence of mind to lift me off the fountain and hand Sarah to her father. No one has spoken.
I retreat into Teoma’s solid form away from Yeshua’s anger.
Sarah corrects me, No, Ima, it is fear. I want to explain, but hold my tongue. Teoma nods a sad farewell.
Late in the evening, Yeshua returns to our chambers with an unwelcome announcement. I whirl around from combing my hair. “But why? What is in Judaea that Teoma must leave before the holidays?”
“It is what’s not in Judaea.”
Before passion controls my tongue, Sarah wakes up crying. I nurse her back to sleep and turn to my husband, but he lies as far on his side of the bed as he can get. Unable to sleep, I rise to walk in the garden. My baby will not wake again till after dawn.
In the olive grove Archangel Gavriel attends my meditation in full sensory form. Wings of light spanning the width of the tree, white aura luminescent with a golden edge, a face so beautiful he could be a young woman. He speaks in my mind with a bell-like voice. Before the night is through you will be escorted by the morning star to a very dark place. Be assured, dear Mary, that this is part of the divine orchestration to assist all with a clearing of fearful energy. In his embrace, I am at peace. He tells me to spend the rest of the night outside.
Wondering if I will be missed, but trusting the angel’s guidance, I slip through the thick flap of my beloved’s tent and crawl onto the soft cushioned bed. So comfortable after my meditation, no more worried thoughts to interfere with my sleep, I begin to doze, only vaguely aware of being watched. Why did I not notice before?
“Mary, I was praying that I would be able to speak to you before I left.” Teoma whispers from the other side of cushions.
I nod, hardly able to breathe, “I came out to the garden to meditate and was guided to lie here.” This is unbelievable! The Divine plays with fire.
“The angel sent you here? What does it mean?” Perhaps he has not had many prayers answered or maybe not so quickly.
“You were praying to be able to speak to me, so now we have some private time to talk.” He smiles, piercing blue eyes soft with longing. What if I can’t control my passion?
“That is not all I prayed for.”
I call out silently and Gavriel arrives. Follow your heart.
Teoma’s ruggedly handsome face has a day’s growth of beard. Although incredibly attracted, I love Yeshua and will do nothing to jeopardize our marriage.
“Teoma, I love and desire you,” he catches his breath as I take a long deep one, “but my destiny lies with Yeshua. I love him but it pains me to see you without your heart’s desire.”
“I cannot imagine loving anyone else, Mary. Yeshua asked me to be your protector, but how can I if he sends me away?”
“Why do you feel you must spend your life in service to Yeshua?” His devotion is more than his desire to stay in my presence,
“Because, dear one, Yeshua is the mashiach—the one to free our people.”
“I only know him as a man. We are here to experience love, thus to redeem ourselves, not to save others.”
“Well, Mary, I am destined to serve him and his mission. Right now that includes serving you and Sarah.”
Suddenly I realize why we are here, “Teoma, you can continue to serve us from wherever you are. Let us meditate for a moment.”
“What shall I do?”
“Just follow my breath and be still.” In a pillar of white light, Archangel Gavriel shows me how to unite us with silver cords of connection. Teoma gasps when the gossamer light threads its way into his heart. “Just remember the love we share then imagine each other and we will feel one another’s presence.”
In awe, he reaches a tentative hand to touch the hayye between us. Palm to palm, I can feel his entire essence wash over me. Teoma is duly affected. I smile at him, “Try not to hold your breath when you interact with the energies.” He chuckles, then his eyes widen. Quickly he sits up.
Yeshua stands in the doorway.
Within the angel’s peaceful embrace, I am protected, but grief shadows Teoma. I touch his heart energy. Yeshua’s anger crashes against us like a wave. As if in a dream, I rise and embrace Teoma. This is farewell.
Passing by my husband, I am moved to say one thing, “I am sorry, Yeshua, but this will be a dark journey.” The morning star shines brightly above the tent, but at my core the elestial quartz is as cold as death. Shivering, I wonder where the Divine is taking us.
Cheshvan, 3773
The fear in my heart has been made manifest—my wife is not my own. My adolescent lamentations that she would favor him over me seem ironic, our arranged marriage forced her decision—he has her heart. We do not speak, our only communication is the silence of our darkened bedchambers. What was once divine has become base, a physical release, water quenching thirst, not the sweet wine that satisfies my soul. Before we married, I dreamed of celebrating the harvest with her, making love among the golden sheaves, but my anger drove her from my arms with the excuse that the baby needed her. But I too need her.
Jealousy colors my vision, I cannot perceive her thoughts. She has shared nothing with me of what happened that night, but I sense his energy about her. In rare instances of peace, I can penetrate her mind to find her braving the ethers in search of the cords that bind their hearts.
My rage poisons our relationship, her wall of fear grows higher as she escapes under kasa. Knowing she journeys past the protective mists, I try to view her through the ethers, but all I can perceive is a black crow. As I struggle through this dark time, my wife withers away, refusing to take her meals with the family. Still the baby grows plump, but I fear we might need to bring in a wet nurse. Once I attempted to make her eat but she stubbornly refused the meal, saying food is not what she hungers for. I insisted, she gave in, her tears waking our inconsolable daughter. Frustrated, I told her that if she did not take care of herself, the baby would suffer as well. My words must have sickened her, for she purged her pain into the betshimush.
Never before have I felt so lost in the mire of fear. Perhaps I should have never married, leading our people without the burden of a wife and family. But I believed we were destined for one another. I created this painful reality to fulfill some divine purpose, but what?
Since the full moon of Tevet, the weather has become bitterly cold, and trapped inside with my sick baby, I am ever drearier. Unable to breathe through her nose, Sarah struggles to nurse, her infirmity a reflection of my own sick heart. Last Shabbat, I allowed Miriam to take her for the day, to give me time to spend with Yeshua, but he no longer seeks my company. At dusk I went to the nursery to retrieve my baby and Miriam begged me to let her stay, but Sarah is all I have now.
Tonight the pain in my heart has spread to my body. Wearily I lie beside my baby, praying she will stay asleep as Yeshua blows out the oil lamp, not even bidding me goodnight. Just as I begin to doze off, he reaches for me, his hand on my hip like ice.
“Please,